Shadows of Death
by LordQuidditch
Summary: Every Half-Blood has one god-parent, this we know: however, Harry is different because of one reason: through the ways of the divine, he has more than one god for a parent/guardian. Response to DZ2's Twice-Blessed Half-Blood Challenge. Powerful, Slightly Dark-Grey!Harry
1. Prologue: The Basilisk

**DZ2's 'Harry the Twice-Blessed Half-Blood' Challenge: A Harry Potter/Percy Jackson (or Heroes of Olympus) Crossover**

**Plot:** Every Half-Blood has one god-parent, this we know: however, Harry is different because of one reason: through the ways of the divine, he has more than one god for a parent/guardian

**Rules:** Light, Grey or Dark Harry

Harry's first god-parent MUST be one of the twelve while others can be any of the Greek/Roman Mythological forces: gods, deities, divines etc

Harry and Percy MUST have different views of right and wrong

Either Thalia, the Di Angelos or Clarisse must be allied with Harry - any others are up to the reader

Whoever Harry's god-parent is MUST break the law and talk/interact/meet with Harry - they do this because of Halloween and they don't want to lose him again

If Harry is Dark, Luke MUST see Harry as the new leading force of the New Olympus and pledge to serve him instead of Kronos

When Harry is 'determined' it must be because of a canon Hogwarts event e.g. defending the Stone, the troll, the Basilisk, the spiders etc

Any pairings are welcome EXCEPT Harry/Hermione and Harry/Percy

Tom and Dumbledore must both feel wary about Harry when he comes into his god-like powers

The Horcrux is destroyed - unless Harry's 'other' god-parents use it to 'determine' him as theirs

Even though he leaves Hogwarts for CHB or his own dwellings, Harry must still keep in touch with his friends

At least one of Harry's friends - or a redeemed friend if you want to use someone like Draco or Severus - must be a Half-Blood

Sirius and Remus do not abandon him

**Guidelines:** Powerful Harry - _Accepted_

Harry and Percy as enemies - _Accepted_

Immortal Harry - _Maybe  
><em>

Master of Death Harry - _Maybe_

The force that determines Harry is a primordial e.g. Thanatos, Erebus, Nyx, Chaos etc - _Maybe_

Harry's god-parent - his main one - is one of the Big Three - _Maybe_

Lily and/or James were that particular god in human form - _Accepted_

Others of the HP universe are Half-Bloods - _Accepted_

A prophecy being made about Harry - _Accepted_

Slash - _Ignored_

The PJ/Heroes of Olympus universe being diverted from canon due to Harry's involvement e.g. Harry goes after the Lightning Bolt and keeps it or Harry helps Luke claim the Fleece and destroys Kronos - _Maybe_

Kronos - somehow - is Harry's god-parent - so a Titan-Harry could be allowed too - _Probably Not_

**Forbidden:** Harry remaining the naive, malleable wizard/demigod people wish him to be

Harry's actual god-parent being anything other than Olympian/Roman

Dumbledore and Tom as allies of Harry

Sirius and Remus abandoning Harry

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: If you think I'm J.K. Rowling andor Rick Riordan, or own a controlling share in Harry Potter and/or Percy Jackson, you're bloody bonkers - I like you!**

**Author's Note: Okay, this one really caught my eye. Again, it's a great sounding challenge, and upon seeing it, I just couldn't resist having a go at it. I hope you enjoy the ensuing madness of my creation.**

**Key Pairing: Harry/Thalia**

**Other Pairings: Yet To Be Decided**

**Speech Key: **Normal Speech

_Thoughts/Writing_

_'Mind Speech'_

_/Parseltongue/_

**Warning: A good portion of this chapter is taken directly from the book (ie, well over half - almost 3/4 I'd say), so please blame J.K. for any poor quality writing at the beginning. The reason I have done this is so that partway through the prologue, it switches from canon to fanfiction. Anyway, read on.**_  
><em>

**Commemoration: This story is dedicated to all those who have fought and died in the wars we as a world have been involved in. As a Royal Air Force Air Cadet and as the son and grandson respectively of a Senior Aircraftman and an RAF Quartermaster, I see it as my duty to honour the fallen, and the brave. **

**_FOR THE FALLEN, BY LAURENCE BINYON_**

_With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,_  
><em>England mourns for her dead across the sea.<em>  
><em>Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,<em>  
><em>Fallen in the cause of the free.<em>

_Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal_  
><em>Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.<em>  
><em>There is music in the midst of desolation<em>  
><em>And a glory that shines upon our tears.<em>

_They went with songs to the battle, they were young,_  
><em>Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.<em>  
><em>They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,<em>  
><em>They fell with their faces to the foe.<em>

_They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:_  
><em>Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.<em>  
><em>At the going down of the sun and in the morning<em>  
><em>We will remember them.<em>

_They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;_  
><em>They sit no more at familiar tables of home;<em>  
><em>They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;<em>  
><em>They sleep beyond England's foam.<em>

_But where our desires are and our hopes profound,_  
><em>Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,<em>  
><em>To the innermost heart of their own land they are known<em>  
><em>As the stars are known to the Night;<em>

_As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,_  
><em>Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,<em>  
><em>As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,<em>  
><em>To the end, to the end, they remain.<em>

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>He was standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place. His heart beating very fast, Harry stood listening to the chilling silence. Could the basilisk be lurking in a shadowy corner, behind a pillar? And where was Ginny?<p>

He pulled out his wand and moved forward between the serpentine columns. Every careful footstep echoed loudly off the shadowy walls. He kept his eyes narrowed, ready to clamp them shut at the smallest sign of movement. The hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes seemed to be following him. More than once, with a jolt of the stomach, he thought he saw one stir.

Then, as he drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall. Harry had to crane his neck to look up into the giant face above - it was ancient and ape-like, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. And between the feet, face down, lay a small, black-robed figure with flaming-red hair.

"Ginny!" Harry muttered, sprinting to her and dropping to his knees. "Ginny - don't be dead - please don't be dead -"

He flung his wand aside, grabbed Ginny's shoulders, and turned her over. Her face was white as marble, and as cold, yet her eyes were closed, so she wasn't petrified. But then she must be ...

"Ginny, please wake up," Harry muttered desperately, shaking her. Ginny's head lolled hopelessly from side to side.

"She won't wake," said a soft voice.

Harry jumped and spun around on his knees.

A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though Harry were looking at him through a misted window. But there was no mistaking him.

"Tom - Tom Riddle?"

Riddle nodded, not taking his eyes off Harry's face.

"What d'you mean, she won't wake?" Harry said desperately. "She's not - she's not -?"

"She's still alive," stated Riddle. "But only just."

Harry stared at him. Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts fifty years ago, yet here he stood, a weird, misty light shining about him, not a day older than sixteen.

"Are you a ghost?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"A memory," said Riddle quietly. "Preserved in a diary for fifty years."

He pointed toward the floor near the statue's giant toes. Lying open there was the little black diary Harry had found in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. For a second, Harry wondered how it had got there - but there were more pressing matters to deal with.

"You've got to help me, Tom," Harry prodded, raising Ginny's head again. "We've got to get her out of here. There's a basilisk ... I don't know where it is, but it could be along any moment ... please, help me."

Riddle didn't move. Harry, sweating, managed to hoist Ginny half off the floor, and bent to pick up his wand again. But his wand had gone.

"Did you see -?"

He looked up. Riddle was still watching him - twirling Harry's wand between his long fingers.

"Thanks," Harry said, stretching out his hand for it.

A smile curled the corners of Riddle's mouth. He continued to stare at Harry, twirling the wand idly.

"Listen," demanded Harry urgently, his knees sagging with Ginny's dead weight. "_We've got to go!_ If the basilisk comes -"

"It won't come until it is called," Riddle stated calmly.

Harry lowered Ginny back onto the floor, unable to hold her up any longer.

"What d'you mean?" he questioned. "Look, give me my wand, I might need it -"

Riddle's smile broadened.

"You won't be needing it," he assured him.

Harry stared at the older boy.

"What d'you mean, I won't be -?"

"I've waited a long time for this, Harry Potter," Riddle began. "For the chance to see you. To speak to you."

"Look," interrupted Harry, losing patience, "I don't think you get it. We're in the Chamber of Secrets. We can talk later -"

"We're going to talk now," said Riddle, still smiling broadly, and he pocketed Harry's wand.

Harry stared at him. There was something very funny going on here…

"How did Ginny get like this?" he asked slowly.

"Well, that's an interesting question," Riddle started pleasantly. "And quite a long story. I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley is like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger."

"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded.

"The diary," explained Riddle. "My diary. Little Ginny's been writing in it for months and months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes - how her brothers tease her, how she had to come to school with secondhand robes and books, how -" Riddle's eyes glinted "- how she didn't think famous, good, great Harry Potter would ever like her ..."

All the time he spoke, Riddle's eyes never left Harry's face. There was an almost hungry look in them.

"It's very boring, having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven-year-old girl," he went on. "But I was patient. I wrote back. I was sympathetic, I was kind. Ginny simply loved me. No one's ever understood me like you, Tom ... I'm so glad I've got this diary to confide in ... It's like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket ..."

Riddle laughed, a high, cold laugh that really didn't suit him. It made the hairs stand up on the back of Harry's neck.

"If I say it myself, Harry, I've always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted ... I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful, far more powerful than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul back into her ..."

"What d'you mean?" said Harry, whose mouth had gone very dry.

"Haven't you guessed yet, Harry Potter?" queried Riddle softly. "Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets. She strangled the school roosters and daubed threatening messages on the walls. She set the Serpent of Slytherin on four Mudbloods, and the Squib's cat."

"No," Harry whispered.

"Yes," the boy spoke calmly. "Of course, she didn't know what she was doing at first. It was very amusing. I wish you could have seen her new diary entries ... far more interesting, they became ... Dear Tom," he recited, watching Harry's horrified face, "'I think I'm losing my memory. There are rooster feathers all over my robes and I don't know how they got there ... Dear Tom, I can't remember what I did on the night of Halloween, but a cat was attacked and I've got paint all down my front ... Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I'm pale and I'm not myself. I think he suspects me ... There was another attack today and I don't know where I was. Tom, what am I going to do? I think I'm going mad ... I think I'm the one attacking everyone, Tom!'"

Harry's fists were clenched, the nails digging deep into his palms.

"It took a very long time for stupid little Ginny to stop trusting her diary," continued Riddle. "But she finally became suspicious and tried to dispose of it. And that's where you came in, Harry. You found it, and I couldn't have been more delighted. Of all the people who could have picked it up, it was you, the very person I was most anxious to meet ..."

"And why did you want to meet me?" Harry vocalised. Anger was coursing through him, and it was an effort to keep his voice steady.

"Well, you see, Ginny told me all about you, Harry," clarified Riddle. "Your whole fascinating history."

His eyes roved over the lightning scar on Harry's forehead, and their expression grew hungrier. "I knew I must find out more about you, talk to you, meet you if I could. So I decided to show you my famous capture of that great oaf, Hagrid, to gain your trust -"

"Hagrid's my friend," Harry realised, his voice now shaking. "And you framed him, didn't you? I thought you made a mistake, but -"

Riddle laughed his high laugh again.

"It was my word against Hagrid's, Harry. Well, you can imagine how it looked to old Armando Dippet. On the one hand, Tom Riddle, poor but brilliant, parent-less but so brave, school prefect, model student ... on the other hand, big, blundering Hagrid, in trouble every other week, trying to raise werewolf cubs under his bed, sneaking off to the Forbidden Forest to wrestle trolls ... but I admit, even I was surprised how well the plan worked. I thought someone must realize that Hagrid couldn't possibly be the Heir of Slytherin. It had taken me five whole years to find out everything I could about the Chamber of Secrets and discover the secret entrance ... as though Hagrid had the brains, or the power!"

"Only the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore, seemed to think Hagrid was innocent. He persuaded Dippet to keep Hagrid and train him as gamekeeper. Yes, I think Dumbledore might have guessed ... Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did ..."

"I bet Dumbledore saw right through you," raged Harry, his teeth gritted.

"Well, he certainly kept an annoyingly close watch on me after Hagrid was expelled," Riddle dismissed carelessly. "I knew it wouldn't be safe to open the Chamber again while I was still at school. But I wasn't going to waste those long years I'd spent searching for it. I decided to leave behind a diary, preserving my sixteen-year-old self in its pages, so that one day, with luck, I would be able to lead another in my footsteps, and finish Salazar Slytherin's noble work."

"Well, you haven't finished it," exclaimed Harry triumphantly. "No one's died this time, not even the cat. In a few hours the Mandrake Draught will be ready and everyone who was Petrified will be all right again -"

"Haven't I already told you," uttered Riddle quietly, "that killing Mudbloods doesn't matter to me anymore? For many months now, my new target has been - you."

Harry stared at him.

"Imagine how angry I was when the next time my diary was opened, it was Ginny who was writing to me, not you. She saw you with the diary, you see, and panicked. What if you found out how to work it, and I repeated all her secrets to you? What if, even worse, I told you who'd been strangling roosters? So the foolish little brat waited until your dormitory was deserted and stole it back. But I knew what I must do. It was clear to me that you were on the trail of Slytherin's heir. From everything Ginny had told me about you, I knew you would go to any lengths to solve the mystery - particularly if one of your best friends was attacked. And Ginny had told me the whole school was buzzing because you could speak Parseltongue ..."

"So I made Ginny write her own farewell on the wall and come down here to wait. She struggled and cried and became very boring. But there isn't much life left in her ... She put too much into the diary, into me. Enough to let me leave its pages at last ... I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here. I knew you'd come. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter."

"Like what?" Harry spat, fists still clenched.

"Well," responded Riddle, smiling pleasantly, "how is it that you - a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent - managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?"

There was an odd red gleam in his hungry eyes now.

"Why do you care how I escaped?" Harry challenged slowly. "Voldemort was after your time ..."

"Voldemort," sighed Riddle softly, "is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter ..."

He pulled Harry's wand from his pocket and began to trace it through the air, writing three shimmering words: TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his name rearranged themselves: I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

"You see?" he whispered. "It was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, to my most intimate friends only, of course. You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father's name forever? I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my mother's side? I, keep the name of a foul, common Muggle, who abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch? No, Harry - I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!"

Harry's brain seemed to have jammed. He stared numbly at Riddle, at the orphaned boy who had grown up to murder Harry's own parents, and so many others. At last he forced himself to speak. However, it wasn't his usual self. A new Harry had arisen. One with guts, one with a backbone, and one with just a hint of insanity.

"You're not," he said, his quiet voice full of hatred.

"Not what?" snapped Riddle.

"Not the greatest sorcerer in the world," reiterated Harry, breathing fast, courage now entering his system. "Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is me. Everyone thinks so. Even when you were strong, you didn't dare try and take over. You attacked me and my parents when I was one, but I defeated you. What do you think that says about the self-proclaimed 'greatest sorcerer in the world, Lord Voldemort'? Then there's Dumbledore. A bit old, but nonetheless, a great magician."

The smile had gone from Riddle's face, to be replaced by a very ugly look.

"Dumbledore's been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me!" he hissed.

"He's not as gone as you might think!" Harry retorted. He was speaking at random, wanting to scare Riddle, wishing rather than believing it to be true. "Anyway, I notice you haven't denied my power," the twelve-year-old added.

Riddle opened his mouth, but froze.

Music was coming from somewhere. Riddle whirled around to stare down the empty Chamber. The music was growing louder. It was eerie, spine-tingling, unearthly; it lifted the hair on Harry's scalp and made his heart feel as though it was swelling to twice its normal size. Then, as the music reached such a pitch that Harry felt it vibrating inside his own ribs, flames erupted at the top of the nearest pillar.

A crimson bird the size of a swan had appeared, piping its weird music to the vaulted ceiling. It had a glittering golden tail as elongated as a peacock's and gleaming golden talons, which were gripping a ragged bundle.

A second later, the bird was flying straight at Harry. It dropped the ragged thing it was carrying at his feet, then landed heavily on his shoulder. As it folded its great wings, Harry looked up and saw it had a long, sharp golden beak and a beady black eye.

The bird stopped singing. It sat still and warm next to Harry's cheek, gazing steadily at Riddle.

"That's a phoenix," the memory assessed, staring shrewdly back at it.

"Fawkes?" Harry breathed, and he felt the bird's golden claws squeeze his shoulder gently.

"And that -" Riddle pointed out, now eyeing the ragged thing that Fawkes had dropped, "That's the old school Sorting Hat -"

So it was. Patched, frayed, and dirty, the hat lay motionless at Harry's feet.

Riddle began to laugh again. He laughed so hard that the dark chamber rang with it, as though ten Riddles were laughing at once.

"This is what Dumbledore sends his defender! A songbird and an old hat! Do you feel brave, Harry Potter? Do you feel safe now?"

Harry didn't answer. He might not see what use Fawkes or the Sorting Hat were, but he was no longer alone, and he waited for Riddle to stop laughing with his courage mounting.

"To business, Harry," said Riddle, still smiling broadly. "Twice - in your past, in my future - we have met. And twice I failed to kill you. How did you survive? Tell me everything. The longer you talk," he added softly, "The longer you stay alive."

Harry was thinking fast, weighing his chances. Riddle had the wand. He, Harry, had Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, neither of which would be much good in a duel. It looked bad, all right ... but the longer Riddle stood there, the more life was dwindling out of Ginny ... and in the meantime, Harry noticed suddenly, Riddle's outline was becoming clearer, more solid ... If it had to be a fight between him and Riddle, better sooner than later.

"No one knows why you lost your powers when you attacked me," asserted Harry abruptly. "I don't know myself. But I know why you couldn't kill me. Because my mother died to save me. My common Muggle-born mother," he added, shaking with suppressed rage. "She stopped you killing me. And I've seen the real you, I saw you last year. You're a wreck. You're barely alive. That's where all your power got you. You're in hiding. You're ugly, you're foul -"

Riddle's face contorted. Then he forced it into an awful smile. "So. Your mother died to save you. Yes, that's a powerful countercharm. I can see now ... there is nothing special about you, after all. I wondered, you see. There are strange likenesses between us, after all. Even you must have noticed. Both half-bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the great Slytherin himself. We even look something alike ... but after all, it was merely a lucky chance that saved you from me. That's all I wanted to know."

Harry stood, tense, waiting for Riddle to raise his wand, but Riddle's twisted smile was widening again.

"Now, Harry, I'm going to teach you a little lesson. Let's match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against famous Harry Potter, and the best weapons Dumbledore can give him ..."

He cast an amused eye over Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, then walked away. Harry, fear spreading up his numb legs, watched Riddle stop between the high pillars and look up into the stone face of Slytherin, high above him in the half-darkness. Riddle opened his mouth wide and hissed - but Harry understood what he was saying.

_/Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four./_

Harry wheeled around to look up at the statue, Fawkes swaying on his shoulder.

Slytherin's gigantic stone face was moving. Horror-stricken, Harry saw his mouth opening, wider and wider, to make a huge black hole.

And something was stirring inside the statue's mouth. Something was slithering up from its depths.

Harry backed away until he hit the dark Chamber wall, and as he shut his eyes tight he felt Fawkes' wing sweep his cheek as he took flight.

Harry wanted to shout, "Don't leave me!" but what chance did a phoenix have against the king of serpents?

Something huge hit the stone floor of the Chamber. Harry felt it shudder - he knew what was happening, he could sense it, could almost see the giant serpent uncoiling itself from Slytherin's mouth. Then he heard Riddle's hissing voice:

_/Kill him./_

The basilisk was moving toward Harry; he could hear its heavy body slithering heavily across the dusty floor. Eyes still tightly shut, Harry began to run blindly sideways, his hands outstretched, feeling his way - Voldemort was laughing. Harry tripped. He fell hard onto the stone and tasted blood the serpent was barely feet from him, he could hear it coming. There was a loud, explosive spitting sound right above him, and then something heavy hit Harry so hard that he was smashed into the wall.

Waiting for fangs to sink through his body he heard more mad hissing, something thrashing wildly off the pillars. He couldn't help it - he opened his eyes wide enough to squint at what was going on. The enormous serpent, bright, poisonous green, thick as an oak trunk, had raised itself high in the air and its great blunt head was weaving drunkenly between the pillars. As Harry trembled, ready to close his eyes if it turned, he saw what had distracted the snake.

Fawkes was soaring around its head, and the basilisk was snapping furiously at him with fangs as long and thin as sabers. He dived. His long golden beak sank out of sight and a sudden shower of dark blood spattered the floor. The snake's tail thrashed, narrowly missing Harry, and before Harry could shut his eyes, it turned - Harry looked straight into its face and saw that its  
>eyes, both its great, bulbous yellow eyes, had been punctured by the phoenix; blood was streaming to the floor, and the snake was spitting in agony.<p>

_/NO!/_ Harry heard Riddle screaming. _/LEAVE THE BIRD! LEAVE THE BIRD! THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU. YOU CAN STILL SMELL HIM. KILL HIM!/_

The blinded serpent swayed, confused, still deadly. Fawkes was circling its head, piping his eerie song, jabbing here and there at its scaly nose as the blood poured from its ruined eyes.

"Help me, help me," Harry muttered wildly, "someone ... anyone ..."

The snake's tail whipped across the floor again. Harry ducked. Something soft hit his face.

The basilisk had swept the Sorting Hat into Harry's arms. Harry seized it. It was all he had left, his only chance - he rammed it onto his head and threw himself flat onto the floor as the basilisk's tail swung over him again.  
><em>Help me - help me,<em> Harry thought, his eyes screwed tight under the hat. _Please help me!_

_'Hush, child, for I am here.'_

The hat contracted, as though an invisible hand was squeezing it. Something very hard dropped onto his head, almost knocking him unconscious as a sibilant voice called out, _'Use it well, my son.'_

Stars winking before his eyes, he grabbed the hat and yanked it off. A gleaming black sword had appeared inside the hat, its handle glittering with sharply cut diamonds. It was darker than night, and was incredibly light - double-edged, one of them a silvery-bronze colour - it was a katana.

_/KILL THE BOY! LEAVE THE BIRD! THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU. SNIFF - SMELL HIM!/_

Harry was on his feet, ready. The basilisk's head was falling, its body coiling around, hitting pillars as it twisted to face him. He could see the vast, bloody eye sockets, see the mouth stretching wide, wide enough to swallow him whole, lined with fangs long as his sword, thin, glittering, venomous ...

It lunged blindly - Harry dodged and it hit the Chamber wall. It attacked once more, and its forked tongue lashed Harry's side. He raised the sword in both his hands and swept it diagonally, aiming at the neck of the beast. A long gash opened in the scales of the basilisk, and it began bleeding profusely, soaking Harry in gore.

The basilisk lunged again, and this time its aim was true - Harry threw his whole weight behind the sword and drove it to the hilt into the roof of the serpent's mouth. But as warm blood drenched Harry's arms, he felt a searing pain just above his elbow.

One long, poisonous fang was sinking deeper and deeper into his arm and it splintered as the basilisk keeled over sideways and fell, twitching, to the floor.

Harry slid down the wall.

He gripped the fang that was spreading poison through his body and wrenched it out of his arm. But he knew it was too late. White-hot pain was spreading slowly and steadily from the wound. Even as he dropped the fang and watched his own blood soaking his robes, his vision went foggy. The Chamber was dissolving in a whirl of dull color.

A patch of scarlet swam past, and Harry heard a soft clatter of claws beside him.

"Fawkes," said Harry thickly. "You were fantastic, Fawkes ..."

He felt the bird lay its beautiful head on the spot where the serpent's fang had pierced him.

He could hear echoing footsteps and then a dark shadow moved in front of him.

"You're dead, Harry Potter," said Riddle's voice above him. "Dead. Even Dumbledore's bird knows it. Do you see what he's doing, Potter? He's crying."

Harry blinked. Fawke's head slid in and out of focus. Thick, pearly tears were trickling down the glossy feathers.

"I'm going to sit here and watch you die, Harry Potter. Take your time. I'm in no hurry."

Harry felt drowsy. Everything around him seemed to be spinning.

"So ends the famous Harry Potter," said Riddle's distant voice. "Alone in the Chamber of Secrets, forsaken by his friends, defeated at last by the Dark Lord he so unwisely challenged. You'll be back with your dear Mudblood mother soon, Harry… She bought you twelve years of borrowed time ... but Lord Voldemort got you in the end, as you knew he must ..."

_If this is dying_, thought Harry, _it's not so bad_.

_'Come, Harry. Wake, my child!'_

Even the pain was leaving him ...

But was this dying? Instead of going black, the Chamber seemed to be coming back into focus.

Harry gave his head a little shake and there was Fawkes, still resting his head on Harry's arm. A pearly patch of tears was shining all around the wound - except that there was no wound.

"Get away, bird," said Riddle's voice suddenly. "Get away from him - I said, get away -"

Harry raised his head. Riddle was pointing Harry's wand at Fawkes; there was a bang like a gun, and Fawkes took flight again in a whirl of gold and scarlet.

"Phoenix tears ..." said Riddle quietly, staring at Harry's arm. "Of course ... healing powers ... I forgot ..."

He looked into Harry's face. "But it makes no difference. In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter… you and me ..."

He raised the wand.

In a rush of wings, Fawkes had soared back overhead and something fell into Harry's lap - the diary.

For a split second, both Harry and Riddle, wand still raised, stared at it. Then, without thinking, without considering, as though he had meant to do it all along, Harry seized the basilisk fang on the floor next to him and plunged it straight into the heart of the book.

There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted out of the diary in torrents, streaming over Harry's hands, flooding the floor. Riddle was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing and then -

He had gone. Harry's wand fell to the floor with a clatter and there was silence. Silence except for the steady drip drip of ink still oozing from the diary. The basilisk venom had burned a sizzling hole right through it.

Shaking all over, Harry pulled himself up. His head was spinning as though he'd just traveled miles by Floo powder. Slowly, he gathered together his wand and the Sorting Hat, and, with an almighty tug, retrieved the glittering sword from the roof of the basilisk's mouth.

"Harry."

A man's voice came from behind him. He whirled around quickly, sword at the ready to smite Riddle. Then, he realised something. The voice didn't sound like Riddle. It was resonant and deep, soft yet powerful.

And then he saw the man. He was lean and muscular, with a regal face, honey gold eyes, and black hair flowing down his shoulders. His skin was the color of teak-wood, and he was a rather imposing figure - timeless, remote; the most beautiful man Harry had ever seen.

The man smiled. He seemed vaguely familiar.

"Well done, my son," he congratulated. "You have destroyed the Horcrux."

"The what?" Harry asked, dumb-struck.

"The Horcrux. powerful object in which a Dark wizard or witch has hidden a fragment of his or her soul for the purpose of attaining immortality. Creating one Horcrux gives one the ability to anchor one's own soul to earth if the body is destroyed; the more Horcruxes one creates, the closer one is to supposed immortality," the man elucidated. "That last part, however, is false. There is indeed immortality - however, it cannot be achieved through such crude means."

He sighed. "I myself am immortal. Immortals - Gods, Primordials, Titans ... even some Monsters. Wizards? No."

"I am deeply proud of you, Harry."

He took a deep, elongated breath. "I, Thanatos, God of Death, Reaper of Souls and Lieutenant of Hades, determine this half-blood as my demigod!"

A whirling sound echoed through the Chamber as a strange symbol appeared above Harry's head. It was grey and purple - a sort of deep, dark purple - and was very intricate, with a pattern and a small, tiny skull in the centre of the design.

Disturbed and even scared, Harry choked out hesitantly, "Wh-who the hell are you?"

The man - Thanatos (whom Harry thought rather deranged as a result of the title-reading) - grinned widely. "Me? Oh, no-one really. Let's just say," he winked. "I'm your God-Father!"

* * *

><p><strong>So what do you think of it, guys? Another challenge, another coffee-fueled fiasco, eh?<strong>

**To those of you who are awaiting the next update of Antonius, fear not - it shall be soon, my friends, it shall be soon!**

**Anyway, thank you for reading - reviews are welcome, they always help; they're what keeps me writing so much ... that and fun, of course. Bye!**


	2. Talking in the Shadows

**DZ2's 'Harry the Twice-Blessed Half-Blood' Challenge: A Harry Potter/Percy Jackson (or Heroes of Olympus) Crossover**

**Plot:** Every Half-Blood has one god-parent, this we know: however, Harry is different because of one reason: through the ways of the divine, he has more than one god for a parent/guardian

**Rules:** Light, Grey or Dark Harry

Harry's first god-parent MUST be one of the twelve while others can be any of the Greek/Roman Mythological forces: gods, deities, divines etc

Harry and Percy MUST have different views of right and wrong

Either Thalia, the Di Angelos or Clarisse must be allied with Harry - any others are up to the reader

Whoever Harry's god-parent is MUST break the law and talk/interact/meet with Harry - they do this because of Halloween and they don't want to lose him again

If Harry is Dark, Luke MUST see Harry as the new leading force of the New Olympus and pledge to serve him instead of Kronos

When Harry is 'determined' it must be because of a canon Hogwarts event e.g. defending the Stone, the troll, the Basilisk, the spiders etc

Any pairings are welcome EXCEPT Harry/Hermione and Harry/Percy

Tom and Dumbledore must both feel wary about Harry when he comes into his god-like powers

The Horcrux is destroyed - unless Harry's 'other' god-parents use it to 'determine' him as theirs

Even though he leaves Hogwarts for CHB or his own dwellings, Harry must still keep in touch with his friends

At least one of Harry's friends - or a redeemed friend if you want to use someone like Draco or Severus - must be a Half-Blood

Sirius and Remus do not abandon him

**Guidelines:** Powerful Harry - _Accepted_

Harry and Percy as enemies - _Accepted_

Immortal Harry - _Maybe  
><em>

Master of Death Harry - _Maybe_

The force that determines Harry is a primordial e.g. Thanatos, Erebus, Nyx, Chaos etc - _Accepted and Done_

Harry's god-parent - his main one - is one of the Big Three - _Maybe_

Lily and/or James were that particular god in human form - _Accepted_

Others of the HP universe are Half-Bloods - _Accepted_

A prophecy being made about Harry - _Accepted_

Slash - _Ignored_

The PJ/Heroes of Olympus universe being diverted from canon due to Harry's involvement e.g. Harry goes after the Lightning Bolt and keeps it or Harry helps Luke claim the Fleece and destroys Kronos - _Maybe_

Kronos - somehow - is Harry's god-parent - so a Titan-Harry could be allowed too - _Probably Not_

**Forbidden:** Harry remaining the naive, malleable wizard/demigod people wish him to be

Harry's actual god-parent being anything other than Olympian/Roman

Dumbledore and Tom as allies of Harry

Sirius and Remus abandoning Harry

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: Gryffindors are red, Half-Bloods are blue, I'm wrong in the head and my face has a strange hue. I don't not own nuffink, innit blud!<strong>

**Author's Note: Okay, this one really caught my eye. Again, it's a great sounding challenge, and upon seeing it, I just couldn't resist having a go at it. I hope you enjoy the ensuing madness of my creation.**

**Author's Rant (a.k.a. Guest Review Replies): Now, I don't want to sound like a complete dick, but I feel the need to do this. **

**To the Guest who wrote the following: "For your information the premodial gods are evil and they happily destroy humanity for they view them as pests and also they won't influence demigods or even gods because it was beneath them and also they are unable to leave their realms which you should know if you ever reads the HOO series.", I have this to say - firstly, learn how to spell the word primordial (hint, look above in the challenge description), then ... where is the proof all primordial gods/goddesses are evil? A quote here from the Thanatos Camp Half-Blood Wiki Page should also counter your 'they can't move around' argument, "is able to quickly pass between the world of the living and the dead". Lastly, this is a work of FAN FICTION - anything can happen. Anyway, Thanatos is the God of Peaceful Death - how is that evil?**

**To the Guest called Poop, who reviewed with the words: "Poop:i thought harry should no be naive? He comes off as stupid. And dont put God-parent or god-father. Just say Father/mother/parent. Putting God is unnecessary and annoying.", Harry is not stupid, merely in shock. And, in case you didn't notice (and you certainly didn't seem to by the review), my 'God-Father' part was a PUN (as you don't appear to know, it is a joke exploiting the different possible meanings of a word or the fact that there are words which sound alike but have different meanings - as defined by the Oxford English Dictionary).**

**Sorry guys, I just had to get that out of my system, or it would have bugged me until I exploded.**

**Key Pairing: Harry/Thalia**

**Other Pairings: Yet To Be Decided**

**Speech Key: **Normal Speech

_Thoughts/Writing_

_'Mind Speech'_

_/Parseltongue/_

**Warning: Just like last time, a good portion of this chapter is taken directly from the book ( over half - almost 2/3 I'd estimate), so please blame J.K. for any poor quality writing at the beginning. The reason I have done this is so that the changes are more prominent where it switches from canon to fan fiction. Anyway, read on.**_  
><em>

**Commemoration: This story is dedicated to all those who have fought and died in the wars we as a world have been involved in. As a Royal Air Force Air Cadet and as the son and grandson respectively of an RAF Senior Aircraftman and an RAF Quartermaster, I see it as my duty to honour the fallen, and the brave. **

**_FOR THE FALLEN, BY LAURENCE BINYON_**

_With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,_  
><em>England mourns for her dead across the sea.<em>  
><em>Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,<em>  
><em>Fallen in the cause of the free.<em>

_Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal_  
><em>Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.<em>  
><em>There is music in the midst of desolation<em>  
><em>And a glory that shines upon our tears.<em>

_They went with songs to the battle, they were young,_  
><em>Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.<em>  
><em>They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,<em>  
><em>They fell with their faces to the foe.<em>

_They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:_  
><em>Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.<em>  
><em>At the going down of the sun and in the morning<em>  
><em>We will remember them.<em>

_They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;_  
><em>They sit no more at familiar tables of home;<em>  
><em>They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;<em>  
><em>They sleep beyond England's foam.<em>

_But where our desires are and our hopes profound,_  
><em>Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,<em>  
><em>To the innermost heart of their own land they are known<em>  
><em>As the stars are known to the Night;<em>

_As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,_  
><em>Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,<em>  
><em>As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,<em>  
><em>To the end, to the end, they remain.<em>

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>"I am proud of you, my son," Thanatos smiled. "I truly am."<p>

With those words, he melted into the background, becoming misty before disappearing entirely.

Then came a faint moan from the end of the Chamber. Ginny was stirring. As Harry hurried toward her, she sat up. Her bemused eyes traveled from the huge form of the dead basilisk, over Harry, in his blood-soaked robes, then to the diary in his hand. She drew a great, shuddering gasp and tears began to pour down her face.

"Harry - oh, Harry - I tried to tell you at b-breakfast, but I c-couldn't say it in front of Percy - it was me, Harry - but I - I s-swear I d-didn't mean to - R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over - and - how did you kill that - that thing? W-where's Riddle? The last thing I r-remember is him coming out of the diary -"

"It's all right," said Harry, holding up the diary, and showing Ginny the fang hole, "Riddle's finished. Look! Him and the basilisk. C'mon, Ginny, let's get out of here -"

"I'm going to be expelled!" Ginny wept as Harry helped her awkwardly to her feet. "I've looked forward to coming to Hogwarts ever since B-Bill came and n-now I'll have to leave and - w-what'll Mum and Dad say?"

Fawkes was waiting for them, hovering in the Chamber entrance. Harry urged Ginny forward; they stepped over the motionless coils of the dead basilisk, through the echoing gloom, and back into the tunnel. Harry heard the stone doors close behind them with a soft hiss.

After a few minutes' progress up the dark tunnel, a distant sound of slowly shifting rock reached Harry's ears.

"Ron!" Harry yelled, speeding up. "Ginny's okay! I've got her!"

He heard Ron give a strangled cheer, and they turned the next bend to see his eager face staring through the sizable gap he had managed to make in the rock fall.

"Ginny!" Ron thrust an arm through the gap in the rock to pull her through first. "You're alive! I don't believe it! What happened? How - what - where did that bird come from?"

Fawkes had swooped through the gap after Ginny.

"He's Dumbledore's," Harry explained, squeezing through himself.

"How come you've got a sword?" asked Ron, gaping at the sparkling weapon in Harry's hand.

"I'll explain when we get out of here," promised Harry with a sideways glance at Ginny, who was crying harder than ever.

"But -"

"Later," Harry said shortly. He didn't think it was a good idea to tell Ron yet who'd been opening the Chamber, not in front of Ginny, anyway. "Where's Lockhart?"

"Back there," signalled Ron, still looking puzzled but jerking his head up the tunnel toward the pipe. "He's in a bad way. Come and see."

Led by Fawkes, whose wide scarlet wings emitted a soft golden glow in the darkness, they walked all the way back to the mouth of the pipe. Gilderoy Lockhart was sitting there, humming placidly to himself.

"His memory's gone," Ron described. "The Memory Charm backfired. Hit him instead of us. Hasn't got a clue who he is, or where he is, or who we are. I told him to come and wait here. He's a danger to himself."

Lockhart peered good-naturedly up at them all.

"Hello," he said. "Odd sort of place, this, isn't it? Do you live here?"

"No," answered Ron, raising his eyebrows at Harry.

Harry bent down and looked up the long, dark pipe.

"Have you thought how we're going to get back up this?" he asked Ron.

Ron shook his head, but Fawkes the phoenix had swooped past Harry and was now fluttering in front of him, his beady eyes bright in the dark. He was waving his long golden tail feathers.

Harry looked uncertainly at him.

"He looks like he wants you to grab hold ..." said Ron, looking perplexed. "But you're much too heavy for a bird to pull up there -"

"Fawkes," Harry implied, "isn't an ordinary bird." He turned quickly to the others. "We've got to hold on to each other. Ginny, grab Ron's hand. Professor Lockhart -"

"He means you," said Ron sharply to Lockhart.

"You hold Ginny's other hand -"

Harry tucked the sword and the Sorting Hat into his belt, Ron took hold of the back of Harry's robes, and Harry reached out and took hold of Fawkes's strangely hot tail feathers. An extraordinary lightness seemed to spread through his whole body and the next second, in a rush of wings, they were flying upward through the pipe. Harry could hear Lockhart dangling  
>below him, saying, "Amazing! Amazing! This is just like magic!"<p>

The chilly air was whipping through Harry's hair, and before he'd stopped enjoying the ride, it was over - all four of them were hitting the wet floor of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and as Lockhart straightened his hat, the sink that hid the pipe was sliding back into place.

Myrtle goggled at them.

"You're alive," she stated blankly to Harry.

"There's no need to sound so disappointed," he voiced grimly, wiping flecks of blood and slime off his glasses.

"Oh, well… I'd just been thinking… if you had died, you'd have been welcome to share my toilet," Myrtle blushed, resulting in an even more silvery sheen to her.

"Urgh!" exclaimed Ron as they left the bathroom for the dark, deserted corridor outside. "Harry! I think Myrtle's grown fond of you! You've got competition, Ginny!"

But tears were still flooding silently down Ginny's face.

"Where now?" questioned Ron, with an anxious look at Ginny. Harry pointed.

Fawkes was leading the way, glowing gold along the corridor. They strode after him, and moments later, found themselves outside Professor McGonagall's office.

Harry knocked and pushed the door open.

* * *

><p>For a moment there was silence as Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Lockhart stood in the doorway, covered in muck and slime and (in Harry's case) blood. Then there was a scream.<p>

"Ginny!"

It was Mrs. Weasley, who had been sitting crying in front of the fire. She leapt to her feet, closely followed by Mr. Weasley, and both of them flung themselves on their daughter.

Harry, however, was looking past them. Professor Dumbledore was standing by the mantelpiece, beaming, next to Professor McGonagall, who was taking great, steadying gasps, clutching her chest. Fawkes went whooshing past Harry's ear and settled on Dumbledore's shoulder, just as Harry found himself and Ron being swept into Mrs. Weasley's tight embrace.

"You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?"

"I think we'd all like to know that," said Professor McGonagall weakly.

Mrs. Weasley let go of Harry, who hesitated for a moment, then walked over to the desk and laid upon it the Sorting Hat, the diamond-encrusted sword, and what remained of Riddle's diary.

Then he started telling them everything. For nearly a quarter of an hour he spoke into the rapt silence: He told them about hearing the disembodied voice, how Hermione had finally realized that he was hearing a basilisk in the pipes; how he and Ron had followed the spiders into the forest, that Aragog had told them where the last victim of the basilisk had died; how he had guessed that Moaning Myrtle had been the victim, and that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets might be in her bathroom ...

"Very well," Professor McGonagall prompted him as he paused, "so you found out where the entrance was - breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add - but how on earth did you all get out of there alive, Potter?"

So Harry, his voice now growing hoarse from all this talking, told them about Fawkes's timely arrival and about the Sorting Hat giving him the sword. But then he faltered. He had so far avoided mentioning Riddle's diary - or Ginny. She was standing with her head against Mrs. Weasley's shoulder, and tears were still coursing silently down her cheeks. _What if they expelled _  
><em>her?<em> Harry thought in panic. Riddle's diary didn't work anymore ... How could they prove it had  
>been he who'd made her do it all?<p>

_'Do not worry, Harry,'_ Thanatos' voice whispered in his mind. _'There doesn't need to be proof - blackmail, I find, can be extremely useful. Just like Dumbledore. Anyway, you must admit it was rather stupid of her to talk to a disembodied voice that used a diary to communicate. And the blackouts surely should have been noticed!'_

Instinctively, Harry looked at Dumbledore, who smiled faintly, the firelight glancing off his half-moon spectacles. _It was a bit thick_.

"What interests me most," said Dumbledore gently, "is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania."

Relief - warm, sweeping, glorious relief - swept over Harry. "W-what's that?" said Mr. Weasley in a stunned voice. "You-Know-Who? En-enchant Ginny? But Ginny's not ... Ginny hasn't been ... has she?"

_'Explain to them, my child.'_

"It was this diary," said Harry quickly, picking it up and showing it to Dumbledore. "Riddle wrote it when he was sixteen ..."

Dumbledore took the diary from Harry and peered keenly down his long, crooked nose at its burnt and soggy pages.

"Brilliant," he said softly. "Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen." He turned around to the Weasleys, who were looking utterly bewildered. "Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school ... traveled far and wide ... sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here."

_He obviously wasn't that clever,_ Harry thought, swallowing his words at a command from Thanatos. _After all, he was beaten by a twelve-year-old._

_'That may be true,'_ his 'father' admitted._ 'But you are a very powerful twelve-year-old. He was merely a memory, a memory of the time just before his rise to power, Harry.'_

"But, Ginny," said Mrs. Weasley. "What's our Ginny got to do with - with - him?"

"His d-diary" Ginny sobbed. "I've b-been writing in it, and he's been w-writing back all year -"

"Ginny!" said Mr. Weasley, flabbergasted. "Haven't I taught you anything. What have I always  
>told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its<br>brain? Why didn't you show the diary to me, or your mother? A suspicious object like that, it  
>was clearly full of Dark Magic!"<p>

"I d-didn't know," sobbed Ginny. "I found it inside one of the books Mum got me. I th-thought  
>someone had just left it in there and forgotten about it -"<p>

"Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away," Dumbledore interrupted in a firm voice. "This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment. Older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort." He strode over to the door and opened it. "Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up," he added, twinkling kindly down at her. "You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake. She's just giving out Mandrake juice - I daresay the basilisk's victims will be waking up any moment."

"So Hermione's okay!" said Ron brightly.

"There has been no lasting harm done, Ginny," said Dumbledore. Mrs. Weasley led Ginny out, and Mr. Weasley followed, still looking deeply shaken.

"You know, Minerva," Professor Dumbledore said thoughtfully to Professor McGonagall, "I think all this merits a good feast. Might I ask you to go and alert the kitchens?"

"Right," said Professor McGonagall crisply, also moving to the door. "I'll leave you to deal with Potter and Weasley, shall I?"

"Certainly," said Dumbledore.

She left, and Harry and Ron gazed uncertainly at Dumbledore. What exactly had Professor McGonagall meant, deal with them?Surely - surely - they weren't about to be punished?

"I seem to remember telling you both that I would have to expel you if you broke any more school rules," said Dumbledore.  
>Ron opened his mouth in horror.<p>

"Which goes to show that the best of us must sometimes eat our words," Dumbledore went on, smiling. "You will both receive Special Awards for Services to the School and - let me see - yes, I think two hundred points apiece for Gryffindor."

Ron went as brightly pink as Lockhart's valentine flowers and closed his mouth again.

"But one of us seems to be keeping mightily quiet about his part in this dangerous adventure," Dumbledore added. "Why so modest, Gilderoy?"

Harry gave a start. He had completely forgotten about Lockhart. He turned and saw that Lockhart was standing in a corner of the room, still wearing his vague smile. When Dumbledore addressed him, Lockhart looked over his shoulder to see who he was talking to.

"Professor Dumbledore," Ron said quickly, "there was an accident down in the Chamber of Secrets. Professor Lockhart -"

"Am I a professor?" said Lockhart in mild surprise. "Goodness. I expect I was hopeless, was I?"

"He tried to do a Memory Charm and the wand backfired," Ron explained quietly to Dumbledore.

"Dear me," said Dumbledore, shaking his head, his long silver mustache quivering. "Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy!"

"Sword?" said Lockhart dimly. "Haven't got a sword. That boy has, though." He pointed at Harry. "He'll lend you one."

"Would you mind taking Professor Lockhart up to the infirmary, too?" Dumbledore said to Ron.

_'Damn it! Be careful what you say, Harry. I have a feeling he wants to talk,'_ Thanatos advised him mentally.

"I'd like a few more words with Harry…"

Lockhart ambled out. Ron cast a curious look back at Dumbledore and Harry as he closed the door.

Dumbledore crossed to one of the chairs by the fire.

_'Don't look him in the eye, Harry,'_ warned the immortal. _'He's a mind-reader. Trust me, he wouldn't hesitate to delve into your memories.'_

_'Okay,'_ he sent back.

"Sit down, Harry," he said, and Harry sat, feeling unaccountably nervous.

"First of all, Harry, I want to thank you," supposed Dumbledore, eyes twinkling again. "You must have shown me real loyalty down in the Chamber. Nothing but that could have called Fawkes to you."

He stroked the phoenix, which had fluttered down onto his knee. Harry grinned awkwardly as Dumbledore watched him, looking slightly to the left so as to avoid eye-contact.

"And so you met Tom Riddle," Dumbledore mentioned thoughtfully. "I imagine he was most interested in you ..."

Suddenly, something that was nagging at Harry came tumbling out of his mouth.

"Professor Dumbledore ... Riddle said I'm like him. Strange likenesses, he said ..."

The moment he said it, he knew he shouldn't have.

"Did he, now?" said Dumbledore, looking thoughtfully at Harry from under his thick silver eyebrows. "And what do you think, Harry?"

"I don't think I'm like him!" shouted Harry, more loudly than he'd intended. "I mean, I'm - I'm in Gryffindor, I'm ..."

But he fell silent, a lurking doubt resurfacing in his mind.

"Professor," he started again after a moment. "The Sorting Hat told me I'd - I'd have done well in Slytherin. Everyone thought I was Slytherin's heir for a while ... because I can speak Parseltongue ..."

"You can speak Parseltongue, Harry," said Dumbledore calmly, "because Lord Voldemort - who is the last remaining ancestor of Salazar Slytherin - can speak Parseltongue. Unless I'm much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar. Not something he intended to do, I'm sure ..."

Realisation struck Harry. "But ... I am like him. Or at least, an early him. We're both half-bloods from old pureblood families. We're both orphans, and neither of us knew about magic until the Hogwarts letter invitation arrived," he breathed. He's powerful, so am I. I was almost in Slytherin ... the similarities are obvious, the clues are all there! We are alike! At least a little!"

"And if what you say is true and Voldemort did put a bit of himself inside me, I should be in Slytherin," Harry said, looking desperately into Dumbledore's face. "The Sorting Hat could see Slytherin's power in me, and it was right. I should have been in Slytherin. It even said so! 'You could be great, you know. It's all here in your head. And Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, there's no doubt about that.'" he quoted. "It saw the potential in me, and I turned it down."

"Yet it put you in Gryffindor," Dumbledore calmed. "Listen to me, Harry. You happen to have many qualities Salazar Slytherin prized in his hand-picked students. His own very rare gift, Parseltongue - resourcefulness - determination - a certain disregard for rules," he added, his mustache quivering again. "Yet the Sorting Hat placed you in Gryffindor. You know why that was. Think."

"It only put me in Gryffindor," said Harry in a defeated voice, "because I asked not to go in Slytherin ..."

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, beaming once more. "Which makes you very different from Tom Riddle. It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."

Harry sat motionless in his chair, stunned. "You said the sword came out of the Sorting Hat, did you not?" the Headmaster questioned suddenly.

Thrown off balance, Harry could only answer honestly. "Yes, Professor."

The man eyed it strangely, before turning back to the child. For a minute, neither of them spoke. Then Dumbledore pulled open one of the drawers in Professor McGonagall's desk and took out a quill and a bottle of ink.

"What you need, Harry, is some food and sleep. I suggest you go down to the feast, while I write to Azkaban - we need our gamekeeper back. And I must draft an advertisement for the Daily Prophet, too," he added thoughtfully. "We'll be needing a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher ... Dear me, we do seem to run through them, don't we?"

Harry got up and crossed to the door. He had just reached for the handle, however, when the door burst open so violently that it bounced back off the wall.

Lucius Malfoy stood there, fury in his face. And cowering behind his legs, heavily wrapped in bandages, was Dobby.

"Good evening, Lucius," welcomed Dumbledore pleasantly.

Mr. Malfoy almost knocked Harry over as he swept into the room. Dobby went scurrying in after him, crouching at the hem of his cloak, a look of abject terror on his face.

The elf was carrying a stained rag with which he was attempting to finish cleaning Mr. Malfoys shoes. Apparently Mr. Malfoy had set out in a great hurry, for not only were his shoes half-polished, but his usually sleek hair was disheveled. Ignoring the elf bobbing apologetically around his ankles, he fixed his cold eyes upon Dumbledore.

"So!" he said "You've come back. The governors suspended you, but you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts."

"Well, you see, Lucius," said Dumbledore, smiling serenely, "the other eleven governors contacted me today. It was something like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell the truth. They'd heard that Arthur Weasleys daughter had been killed and wanted me back here at once. They seemed to think I was the best man for the job after all. Very strange tales they told me, too ... Several of them seemed to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn't agree to suspend me in the first place."

Mr. Malfoy went even paler than usual, but his eyes were still slits of fury.

"So — have you stopped the attacks yet?" he sneered. "Have you caught the culprit?"

"We have," said Dumbledore, with a smile.

"Well?" demanded Mr. Malfoy sharply. "Who is it?"

"The same person as last time, Lucius," elucidated Dumbledore. "But this time, Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody else. By means of this diary."

He held up the small black book with the large hole through the center, watching Mr. Malfoy closely. Harry, however, was watching Dobby.

The elf was doing something very odd. His great eyes fixed meaningfully on Harry, he kept pointing at the diary, then at Mr. Malfoy, and then hitting himself hard on the head with his fist.

"I see ..." said Mr. Malfoy slowly to Dumbledore.

"A clever plan," said Dumbledore in a level voice, still staring Mr. Malfoy straight in the eye.

"Because if Harry here -" Mr. Malfoy shot Harry a swift, sharp look "And his friend Ron hadn't discovered this book, why - Ginny Weasley might have taken all the blame. No one would ever have been able to prove she hadn't acted of her own free will ..."

Mr. Malfoy said nothing. His face was suddenly mask-like.

"And imagine," Dumbledore went on, "what might have happened then ... The Weasleys are one of our most prominent pure-blood families. Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley and his Muggle Protection Act, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and - killing Muggle-borns ... very fortunate the diary was discovered, and Riddle's memories wiped from it. Who knows what the consequences might have been otherwise ..."

Mr. Malfoy forced himself to speak.

"Very fortunate," he acknowledged stiffly.

And still, behind his back, Dobby was pointing, first to the diary, then to Lucius Malfoy, then punching himself in the head.

_'Work it out, Harry ...'_

And Harry suddenly understood. He nodded at Dobby, and Dobby backed into a corner, now twisting his ears in punishment.

"Don't you want to know how Ginny got hold of that diary, Mr. Malfoy?" offered Harry. Lucius Malfoy rounded on him.

"How should I know how the stupid little girl got hold of it?" he asked petulantly.

"Because you gave it to her," Harry. "In Flourish and Blotts. You picked up her old Transfiguration book and slipped the diary inside it, didn't you?"

He saw Mr. Malfoy's white hands clench and un-clench.

"Prove it," he hissed.

"Oh, no one will be able to do that," said Dumbledore, smiling at Harry. "Not now that Riddle has vanished from the book. On the other hand, I would advise you, Lucius, not to go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort's old school things. If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think Arthur Weasley, for one, will make sure they are traced back to you ..."

Lucius Malfoy stood for a moment, and Harry distinctly saw his right hand twitch as though he was longing to reach for his wand. Instead, he turned to his house-elf. "We're going, Dobby!"

He wrenched open the door and as the elf came hurrying up to him, he kicked him right through it. They could hear Dobby squealing with pain all the way along the corridor. Harry stood for a moment, thinking hard. Then it came to him.

"Professor Dumbledore," he asked hurriedly. "Can I give that diary back to Mr. Malfoy, please?"

"Certainly, Harry," acquiesced Dumbledore calmly. "But hurry. The feast, remember…" Harry grabbed the diary and dashed out of the office. He could hear Dobby's squeals of pain receding around the corner. Quickly, wondering if this plan could possibly work.

Harry took off one of his shoes, pulled off his slimy, filthy sock, and stuffed the diary into it. Then he ran down the dark corridor.

He caught up with them at the top of the stairs.

"Mr. Malfoy," he gasped, skidding to a halt, "I've got something for you —"

And he forced the smelly sock into Lucius Malfoy's hand.

"What the —?"

Mr. Malfoy ripped the sock off the diary, threw it aside, then looked furiously from the ruined book to Harry. "You'll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Harry Potter," he said softly. "They were meddlesome fools, too."

He turned to go.

"I think not," Harry smirked, his voice cold and hard. "You will leave this place, and you will repent, or my uncle shall find you. Let's just say you shall not enjoy your fate."

* * *

><p><strong>So what do you think of it, guys? Yet another disaster enhanced by caffeine?<strong>

**Anyway, thank you for reading - reviews are welcome, they always help; they're what keeps me writing so much ... that and fun, of course. Bye!**


	3. Shadowed Revelations

**DZ2's 'Harry the Twice-Blessed Half-Blood' Challenge: A Harry Potter/Percy Jackson (or Heroes of Olympus) Crossover**

**Plot:** Every Half-Blood has one god-parent, this we know: however, Harry is different because of one reason: through the ways of the divine, he has more than one god for a parent/guardian

**Rules:** Light, Grey or Dark Harry

Harry's first god-parent MUST be one of the twelve while others can be any of the Greek/Roman Mythological forces: gods, deities, divines etc

Harry and Percy MUST have different views of right and wrong

Either Thalia, the Di Angelos or Clarisse must be allied with Harry - any others are up to the reader

Whoever Harry's god-parent is MUST break the law and talk/interact/meet with Harry - they do this because of Halloween and they don't want to lose him again

If Harry is Dark, Luke MUST see Harry as the new leading force of the New Olympus and pledge to serve him instead of Kronos

When Harry is 'determined' it must be because of a canon Hogwarts event e.g. defending the Stone, the troll, the Basilisk, the spiders etc

Any pairings are welcome EXCEPT Harry/Hermione and Harry/Percy

Tom and Dumbledore must both feel wary about Harry when he comes into his god-like powers

The Horcrux is destroyed - unless Harry's 'other' god-parents use it to 'determine' him as theirs

Even though he leaves Hogwarts for CHB or his own dwellings, Harry must still keep in touch with his friends

At least one of Harry's friends - or a redeemed friend if you want to use someone like Draco or Severus - must be a Half-Blood

Sirius and Remus do not abandon him

**Guidelines:** Powerful Harry - _Accepted_

Harry and Percy as enemies - _Accepted_

Immortal Harry - _Maybe  
><em>

Master of Death Harry - _Maybe_

The force that determines Harry is a primordial e.g. Thanatos, Erebus, Nyx, Chaos etc - _Accepted and Done_

Harry's god-parent - his main one - is one of the Big Three - _Maybe_

Lily and/or James were that particular god in human form - _Accepted_

Others of the HP universe are Half-Bloods - _Accepted_

A prophecy being made about Harry - _Accepted_

Slash - _Ignored_

The PJ/Heroes of Olympus universe being diverted from canon due to Harry's involvement e.g. Harry goes after the Lightning Bolt and keeps it or Harry helps Luke claim the Fleece and destroys Kronos - _Maybe_

Kronos - somehow - is Harry's god-parent - so a Titan-Harry could be allowed too - _Probably Not_

**Forbidden:** Harry remaining the naive, malleable wizard/demigod people wish him to be

Harry's actual god-parent being anything other than Olympian/Roman

Dumbledore and Tom as allies of Harry

Sirius and Remus abandoning Harry

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Percy Jackson, just like this sentence don't not own no good grammar. Do I look like Rick Riordan andor Joanne Rowling (did you know she actually doesn't have a middle name?) to you? If so, go to Specsavers! Anyway, the books were invented/written by full-time authors, not spare-time-scribing, almost fourteen-year-old coffee addicts.**

**Author's Note: Okay, this one really caught my eye. Again, it's a great sounding challenge, and upon seeing it, I just couldn't resist having a go at it. I hope you enjoy the ensuing madness of my creation.**

**Author's Thanks: Thank you everyone who has read, reviewed, favourited and followed! This has had a great response so far - over 100 follows and almost 100 favourites, with 20 reviews. THANK YOU!**

**Warnings: Mentions of right-wing political and racist groups, rape, and abuse. To all those who have suffered, I apologise if you feel affected by the words and phrases in this chapter. Also, I do not approve of the things I have aforementioned.**

**Key Pairing: Harry/Thalia**

**Other Pairings: Yet To Be Decided**

**Speech Key: **Normal Speech

_Thoughts/Writing_

_'Mind Speech'_

_/Parseltongue/_

**Commemoration: This story is dedicated to all those who have fought and died in the wars we as a world have been involved in. As a Royal Air Force Air Cadet and as the son and grandson respectively of an RAF Senior Aircraftman and an RAF Quartermaster, I see it as my duty to honour the fallen, and the brave. **

**_FOR THE FALLEN, BY LAURENCE BINYON_**

_With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,_  
><em>England mourns for her dead across the sea.<em>  
><em>Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,<em>  
><em>Fallen in the cause of the free.<em>

_Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal_  
><em>Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.<em>  
><em>There is music in the midst of desolation<em>  
><em>And a glory that shines upon our tears.<em>

_They went with songs to the battle, they were young,_  
><em>Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.<em>  
><em>They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,<em>  
><em>They fell with their faces to the foe.<em>

_They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:_  
><em>Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.<em>  
><em>At the going down of the sun and in the morning<em>  
><em>We will remember them.<em>

_They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;_  
><em>They sit no more at familiar tables of home;<em>  
><em>They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;<em>  
><em>They sleep beyond England's foam.<em>

_But where our desires are and our hopes profound,_  
><em>Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,<em>  
><em>To the innermost heart of their own land they are known<em>  
><em>As the stars are known to the Night;<em>

_As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,_  
><em>Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,<em>  
><em>As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,<em>  
><em>To the end, to the end, they remain.<em>

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>He turned to go, fury upon his face.<p>

"Come, Dobby. I said, come."

But Dobby didn't move. He was holding up Harry's disgusting, slimy sock, and looking at it as though it were a priceless treasure.

"Master has given a sock," said the elf in wonderment. "Master gave it to Dobby."

"What's that?" spat Mr. Malfoy. "What did you say?"

"I have a sock," said Dobby in disbelief. "Master threw it, and Dobby caught it, and Dobby - Dobby is free."

Lucius Malfoy stood frozen, staring at the elf then he lunged at Harry.

"You've lost me my servant, boy!"

"You shall not harm Harry Potter!" Dobby shouted.

There was a loud bang, and Mr. Malfoy was thrown backward. He crashed down the stairs, three at a time, landing in a crumpled heap on the landing below. He got up, his face livid, and pulled out his wand, but Dobby raised a long, threatening finger.

"You shall go now," he said fiercely, pointing down at Mr. Malfoy. "You shall not touch Harry Potter. You shall go now."

Lucius Malfoy had no choice. With a last, incensed stare at the pair of them, he swung his cloak around him and hurried out of sight.

"Harry Potter freed Dobby!" said the elf shrilly, gazing up at Harry, moonlight from the nearest window reflected in his orb-like eyes. "Harry Potter set Dobby free!"

"Least I could do, Dobby," said Harry, grinning. "Just promise never to try and save my life again."

The elf's ugly brown face split suddenly into a wide, toothy smile.

"I've just got one question, Dobby," said Harry as Dobby pulled on Harry's sock with shaking hands.

"You told me all this had nothing to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, remember? Well -"

"It was a clue, sir," said Dobby, his eyes widening, as though this was obvious. "Was giving you a clue. The Dark Lord, before he changed his name, could be freely named, you see?"

"Right," said Harry weakly. "Well, I'd better go. There's a feast, and my friend Hermione should be awake by now ..."

Dobby threw his arms around Harry's middle and hugged him.

"Harry Potter is greater by far than Dobby knew!" he sobbed. "Farewell, Harry Potter!"

And with a final loud crack, Dobby disappeared.

Harry had been to several Hogwarts feasts, but never one quite like this. Everybody was in their pajamas, and the celebration lasted all night. Harry didn't know whether the best bit was Hermione running toward him, screaming "You solved it! You solved it!" or Justin hurrying over from the Hufflepuff table to wring his hand and apologize endlessly for suspecting him, or Hagrid turning up at half past three, cuffing Harry and Ron so hard on the shoulders that they were knocked into their plates of trifle, or his and Ron's four hundred points for Gryffindor securing the House Cup for the second year running, or Professor McGonagall standing up to tell them all that the exams had been canceled as a school treat ("Oh, no!" said Hermione), or Dumbledore announcing that, unfortunately, Professor Lockhart would be unable to return next year, owing to the fact that he needed to go away and get his memory back. Quite a few of the teachers joined in the cheering that greeted this news.

"Shame," said Ron, helping himself to a jam doughnut. "He has starting to grow on me."

The rest of the final term passed in a haze of blazing sunshine. Hogwarts was back to normal with only a few, small differences - Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were canceled ("but we've had plenty of practice at that anyway," Ron told a disgruntled Hermione) and Lucius Malfoy had been sacked as a school governor. Draco was no longer strutting around the school as though he owned the place. On the contrary, he looked resentful and sulky. On the other hand, Ginny Weasley was perfectly happy again.

Too soon, it was time for the journey home on the Hogwarts Express. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny got a compartment to themselves. They made the most of the last few hours in which they were allowed to do magic before the holidays. They played Exploding Snap, set off the very last of Fred and George's Filibuster fireworks, and practiced disarming each other by magic. Harry was getting very good at it.

They were almost at King's Cross when Harry remembered something.

"Ginny - what did you see Percy doing, that he didn't want you to tell anyone?"

"Oh, that," said Ginny, giggling. "Well - Percy's got a girlfriend." Fred dropped a stack of  
>books on George's head. "What?"<p>

"It's that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater," said Ginny. "That's who he was writing to all last summer. He's been meeting her all over the school in secret. I walked in on them kissing in an empty classroom one day. He was so upset when she was - you know - attacked. You won't tease him, will you?" she added anxiously.

"Wouldn't dream of it," said Fred, who was looking like his birthday had come early.

"Definitely not," said George, sniggering.

The Hogwarts Express slowed and finally stopped.

Harry pulled out his quill and a bit of parchment and turned to Ron and Hermione.

"This is called a telephone number," he told Ron, scribbling it twice, tearing the parchment in two, and handing it to them. "I told your dad how to use a telephone last summer - he'll know. Call me at the Dursleys', okay? I can't stand another two months with only Dudley to talk to ..."

"Your aunt and uncle will be proud, though, won't they?" said Hermione as they got off the train and joined the crowd thronging toward the enchanted barrier. "When they hear what you did this year?"

"Proud?" said Harry. "Are you crazy? All those times I could've died, and I didn't manage it? They'll be furious ..."

_The only person I care about making proud,_ Harry added mentally,_ is my father_.

And together the pair walked back through the gateway to the Muggle world.

* * *

><p>Dirt was ground deep beneath his fingernails as Harry weeded the garden. As he pulled up a particularly nasty stinging nettle, he heard a loud knocking sound.<p>

"Oh no!"

He sprinted through the garden and through the back entrance in a rush to answer the door. If his uncle got there first ...

"Yes? What can I do for you?" came the voice of his tormentor.

* * *

><p>Thanatos stepped up upon the doorstep of Number Four Privet Drive. The home consisted of two floors. Inside, the house was, if anything, even neater than the perfectly presented gardens (at least from what he could see through the window). The downstairs consisted of a living room, dining room, kitchen and hall. Inhaling sharply, he rapped his knuckles thrice upon the synthetic wood door.<p>

A minute later it was wrenched open by a big, beefy man with a large purple face. He had thick, dark hair, a bushy black moustache, with hardly any neck and small, blue, mean eyes. His name? Vernon Dursley. From the information he had gathered before summoning the courage to visit the house, Vernon was a petty-minded bully who had no tolerance for people who were different than himself. He was shown to be unsympathetic to beggars and vagrants. He was very much concerned with status and wealth and tended to judge people based on how big their cars were or their clothes. He enjoyed ordering around his employees at Grunnings, enjoying his status and power as director of his company, sitting above them in a high office on the ninth floor. He advocated the death penalty, claiming that "...hanging's the only way to deal with those people," showing his very harsh view of criminal justice. Vernon liked to look big and impressive, yet was easily intimidated whenever he was put in situations that he was not used to. He was also shown to be quite oblivious to small things, particularly when cross.

Sometimes when he was angry, Vernon would mumble, barely forming complete sentences. He was also quite conservative in his political views, as he read the _Daily Mail_, a British tabloid famed for its right-wing political stance. He was a complainer and his favourite subjects included people at work, the council, the bank and motorbikes.

Behind him appeared his wife, Petunia. Petunia was a thin, blonde-haired woman with pale eyes and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck. She looked like a horse when she pursed her lips. Also, she had large horse-like front teeth.

Petunia was a nosy, hostile and repressed woman who, like her husband, was obsessed with appearing normal. Petunia hated and was very much afraid of magic, and, indeed, anything out of the ordinary. She blindly doted on her son Dudley, but shunned Harry because of his peculiarities.

Much like the rest of the Dursley family, she was a mean spirited and vain bully, who was envious of those who possessed greater talent or ability than herself, particularly against her sister Lily. She often bullied and neglected her nephew throughout most of his childhood, often calling him a freak and never showed any compassion towards him, whilst constantly spoiling and praising her son Dudley.

Petunia probably was not especially intelligent or talented, as she took on a rather uninteresting and grunt type setting course at Grunnings after leaving school, where she first met her husband Vernon. She was also unable to realize her son Dudley's lack of positive qualities, and believed him to be gifted and clever boy, despite the fact he received abysmal school grades. She was also rather gullible to believe Dudley went to a different friend's house for dinner each night, when actually he and his gang were causing trouble and bullying younger children.

Then was the whale of a son they called 'Dudders'. Dudley had watery blue eyes and thick blond hair. Growing up, Dudley was extremely fat, at least four times Harry's size. He ate mostly junk food, hated exercise, and often played video games. When Harry and the Dursleys ate breakfast Dudley's flab would often hang off the chair because he was too big and eventually a TV was bought for the kitchen after Dudley had complained about the distance from the living room to the fridge. He was also incredibly lazy. This may have had something to do with his weight problem.

His parents spoiled him to the point of becoming grossly obese, demanding, selfish and manipulative, but most of all, he was extremely ungrateful. During his eleventh birthday, he screamed when he received one gift less than last year, making his parents promise to buy him two more, and pretended to cry when he realised Harry would have to come with him for his birthday trip to the zoo.

Dudley had a very bad habit of bullying kids who were weaker and as much as five years younger than he was, and when he forgot his fear of Harry's powers, callously insulted him in any way possible, even jeering at Harry about his obviously disturbing nightmares.

Overall, they were seriously messed up.

However, this was necessary. In a black and white pinstripe business suit and matching brogue shoes, with a bottle green tie and accompanying fedora tilted over his sunglasses-covered eyes. He thought he looked like the perfect smart businessman. The main difference was the amount of honours pinned to his left breast.

"Yes? What can I do for you?" Vernon asked him politely. This was obviously someone of importance.

"Mr. Vernon Dursley, Chief Director of Grunnings Drill Manufacturing Company, I presume," he smiled broadly.

Puffing out his bloated stomach at the use of his title, Vernon's attitude changed completely. "That would be correct. How can I help you, sir?"

The bait had worked. "My name is Everett Pierpont - Knight Grand Cross of the Order of the British Empire, Victoria Cross, George Cross, Royal Red Cross Class One, Distinguished Service Cross, Military Cross, Distinguished Flying Cross, Air Force Cross, Distinguished Conduct Medal, George Medal, Air Crew Europe Star, France and Germany Star, Defence Medal, Korea Medal, Atlantic Star, India General Service Medal, Royal Air Force Meritorious Service Medal, Royal Air Force Long Service and Good Conduct Medal, Air Forces Queen's Medal, General Service Medal. I am here to speak to you, Mr. Dursley," he rattled off his introduction sharply. "May I come in?"

Without waiting for invitation, he brushed past the stunned family and into the house.

"Very nice, Mr. Dursley. Very nice ..."

* * *

><p>"I must say, Mrs. Dursley, that you've done a superb job with the cleaning and decorating of the house," Thanatos complimented falsely.<p>

The horse-faced woman blushed slightly, and beamed in pride.

Making himself comfortable on the leather living room sofa, he looked around, commenting positively on every part of his surroundings, even Dudley. "I shall be frank with you, Vernon - may I call you Vernon?" at the nod of the fat man, he continued. "I am here to see someone in this house. Someone you hate. Your 'nephew', Harry."

Shocked would be an understatement in relation to their facial expressions and reactions to that statement. "What? B-but-t, t-" Vernon spluttered. "What do you want with the freak?"

'Everett Pierpont' was outraged. His eyes narrowed suddenly, great anger apparent in his features. "_How dare you? How bloody dare you?_" he demanded through gritted teeth. "_You_ - a fat, bullying, hate-filled bastard, have the _nerve_ to call _him_ a _freak_!"

He laughed manically, throwing his hands up in the air. "I know why you hate him. You see him as different," he realised. "You, a member of three _despicable_, _horrifying_ and _disgusting_ groups - you, a Grand Dragon of the British Ku Klux Klan - you, one of the most prominent wing-men of the underground early formation of the 'right-wing activist' group set to appear publicly in about a decade, the 'English Defence League' and the current leader of the 'British National Front' - you, a man who goes out on protests hidden behind masks and cloaks, butchering and maiming, preaching Aryanism only before shown by the Nazi Party under the rule of Adolf Hitler - _you_ see him as everything you stand against."

"Lily Evans was adopted. You knew that - she was originally from Rhodesia, and was born black, the daughter of two ... 'inferiors'. Facing racism when she was brought here to England, she had her skin colour changed, courtesy of her sponsors, the Department of Mysteries. Harry her son, he's not like you."

"To you, magic is wrong. Why is that, I wonder? Well," his eyes glinted. "Your youngest and most influential EDL colleague, 'Tommy Robinson' is a squib."

A gasp came from the mouth of Petunia.

"Yes, you recognise the term, don't you? I assume your husband doesn't," without awaiting a reply, he kept going. "A squib is a non-magical person who is born to at least one magical parent. Squibs are, in essence, 'wizard-born Muggles.' They are rare and are looked upon with a degree of disdain by some witches and wizards, particularly pure-bloods. Muggle-born witches and wizards are descended from Squibs who married Muggles; the magical ability unexpectedly resurfaces after many generations."

"He was born Stephen Christopher Yaxley, the son of one of the most elite pureblood families of the wizarding world. Seeing his 'disability', they abandoned him. Understandably, he hated them for it ever since. But why the Anti-Islamism, you may ask? Well, both his uncles were Muslim. Upon discovering the 'horror', they beat him regularly. Why not turn the hate upon them?"

"Guess what else! John Tyndall, founder of the National Front, was one. His parents were foreign, and had a very distinct view on squibs. So, they deserted him, and he grew up abhorrent of those who are different."

"The first leader, or 'Grand Wizard' of the KKK, was also one. How do you think he came up with his title? How do you think he came up with the robes? He was part of another pure-blooded family, this time in the United States. His father, the man who despised him for the curse he was under, blamed the mother of the child, a negro woman he _raped_."

"With the loathing of black people ingrained in his nature from birth, he grew up as an evil, foul and downright murderous racist. Seeing his father wearing robes, he copied the idea for the attire of his Clan."

"The foundation of your beliefs was magical - all of it. That, is why you are so wrong. You would beat and degrade a child, for being the same as your predecessors wished they could be. And you wonder why you are seen as hypocrites!"

Moving suddenly and grabbing the gaping whale's flabby throat in an impossibly tight grasp, his rage peaked. "HARRY IS MINE! YOU WILL NEVER TOUCH HIM AGAIN, AND IF I HEAR OF ANY MORE ABUSE, ANY MORE NEGLECT, ANY MORE ... NEO-FASCISM ... YOU WILL WISH YOU HAD NEVER BEEN BORN! I am Thanatos, God of Peaceful Death, but _trust me_, I have my anti-theses. The Keres, spirits of violent death, can easily find you, _my friend_."

He spat the last word sarcastically, and stormed out of the building.

* * *

><p>A few months later, after the home invasion by Thanatos, the Dursleys had treated Harry much better. Of course, they didn't like him and they never would, but they were too scared by what they were told by the man to actually do anything bad to him. Over the summer, Harry had taken to reading a lot more books - mostly on Ancient Greek culture, but some were on the art of swordsmanship, some on the subject of the martial arts of the Orient, and even a few on magic and the noble act of wizarding and runic spellcrafting, only taught usually to those with great and undeniable potential in the matter, as it was rather dangerous. As a result, Harry had taken up practicing the things he read in his books, mostly in the garden or his room.<p>

However, Vernon's sister, Marge, was about to arrive on a visit. A week or so prior, it had been announced, and now the time had come.

"Firstly," growled Uncle Vernon, "You'll keep a civil tongue in your head when you're talking to Marge."

"All right," said Harry bitterly, "If she does when she's talking to me.

"Secondly," said Uncle Vernon, acting as though he had not heard Harry's reply, "As Marge doesn't know anything about your abnormality, I don't want any - any funny stuff while she's here. You behave yourself, got me?"

"I will if she does," said Harry through gritted teeth.

"And thirdly," said Uncle Vernon, his mean little eyes now slits in his great purple face, "We've told Marge you attend St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys."

"What?" Harry yelled.

"And you'll be sticking to that story, boy, or there'll be trouble," spat Uncle Vernon.

Harry sat there, white-faced and furious, staring at Uncle Vernon, hardly able to believe it. Aunt Marge coming for a week long visit - it was the worst birthday present the Dursleys had ever given him, including that pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks.

"Dudley's got to make himself smart for his auntie," said Aunt Petunia, smoothing Dudley's thick blond hair. "Mummy's bought him a lovely new bow tie."

Uncle Vernon clapped Dudley on his porky shoulder. "See you in a bit, then," he said, and he left the kitchen.

Harry, who had been sitting in a kind of horrified trance, had a sudden idea. Abandoning his toast, he got quickly to his feet and followed Uncle Vernon to the front door.

Uncle Vernon was pulling on his car coat.

"I'm not taking you," he snarled as he turned to see Harry watching him.

"Like I wanted to come," said Harry coldly. "I want to ask you something."

Uncle Vernon eyed him suspiciously.

"Third years at Hog - at my school are allowed to visit the village sometimes," said Harry.

"So?" snapped Uncle Vernon, taking his car keys from a hook next to the door.

"I need you to sign the permission form," said Harry in a rush.

"And why should I do that?" sneered Uncle Vernon.

"Well," said Harry, choosing his words carefully, "it'll be hard work, pretending to Aunt Marge I go to that St. Whatsits -"

"St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys!" bellowed Uncle Vernon, and Harry was pleased to hear a definite note of panic in Uncle Vernon's voice.

"Exactly," said Harry, looking calmly up into Uncle Vernon's large, purple face. "It's a lot to remember. I'll have to make it sound convincing, won't I? What if I accidentally let something slip?"

"You'll get the stuffing knocked out of you, won't you?" roared Uncle Vernon, advancing on Harry with his fist raised. But Harry stood his ground.

"Knocking the stuffing out of me won't make Aunt Marge forget what I could tell her," he said grimly. "And you wouldn't want to anger Thanatos, would you, Vernon?"

Uncle Vernon stopped, his fist still raised, his face an ugly puce.

"But if you sign my permission form," Harry went on quickly, "I swear I'll remember where I'm supposed to go to school, and I'll act like a Mug - like I'm normal and everything."

Harry could tell that Uncle Vernon was thinking it over, even if his teeth were bared and a vein was throbbing in his temple.

"Right," he snapped finally. "I shall monitor your behavior carefully during Marge's visit. If, at the end of it, you've toed the line and kept to the story, I'll sign your ruddy form."

He wheeled around, pulled open the front door, and slammed it so hard that one of the little panes of glass at the top fell out.

Harry didn't return to the kitchen. He went back upstairs to his bedroom. If he was to act like a proper Muggle for the next week, he might as well enjoy magic for the few hours until Marge's arrival.

"Hedwig," he said gloomily, "You're going to have to clear off for a week. Go with Errol. Ron'll look after you. I'll write him a note, explaining. And don't look at me like that," Hedwig's large amber eyes were reproachful. "It's not my fault. It's the only way I'll be allowed to visit Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione."

Ten minutes later, Errol and Hedwig (who had a note to Ron bound to her leg) soared out of the window and out of sight. Harry, now feeling thoroughly miserable, put the empty cage away inside the wardrobe. Sitting up in bed, he pulled an ancient text towards him, opening it at a bookmarked page.

Looking at it carefully, he dropped off the edge of the bed, and waved his hand twice, uttering the words, "Μετεωρίζονται, φίλος, με φτερωτά πόδια!"

Just before hitting the floor, he rose slowly, away from the ground, as if invisible cushions of air held him in place there. He lowered himself carefully, picking out another incantation. Pointing his open palms at his feet, he cried, "Αθόρυβο για όσους βρίσκονται εκτός."

He whistled sharply, something guaranteed to annoy and bring his aunt rushing up the stairs. Instead, nothing happened. The spell had worked.

He picked another tome, staring at the hieroglyphs appreciatively, then converting them into modern Arabic, a language he had recently taught himself with the aid of one of the other Greek spells. "Algha al sihr!"

Again, he whistled. This time, an incomprehensible shrieking came from downstairs. It seemed that the different magically powerful languages were compatible. A thought striking him, he chose another tongue and another charm.

Staring at the dangling light, he extended his hands towards it, middle and ring fingers outstretched and the index finger, thumb, and little finger curled inwards. "Ljós!"

Shining brilliance flooded the room. "!חושך"

The room was suddenly pitch black. This would take a bit of work ...

* * *

><p>But Harry didn't have long to brood. In next to no time, Aunt Petunia was shrieking up the stairs for Harry to come down and get ready to welcome their guest.<p>

"Do something about your hair!" Aunt Petunia snapped as he reached the hall.

Harry couldn't see the point of trying to make his hair lie flat. Aunt Marge loved criticizing him, so the untidier he looked, the happier she would be. He did it by magic, when Petunia wasn't looking, with a muttered, "Caesaries sedo."

All too soon, there was a crunch of gravel outside as Uncle Vernon's car pulled back into the driveway, then the clunk of the car doors and footsteps on the garden path.

"Get the door!" Aunt Petunia hissed at Harry.

A feeling of great gloom in his stomach, Harry pulled the door open.

On the threshold stood Aunt Marge. She was very like Uncle Vernon: large, beefy, and purple- faced, she even had a mustache, though not as bushy as his. In one hand she held an enormous suitcase, and tucked under the other was an old and evil-tempered bulldog.

"Where's my Dudders?" roared Aunt Marge. "Where's my neffy-poo?"

Dudley came waddling down the hall, his blond hair plastered flat to his fat head, a bow tie just visible under his many chins. Aunt Marge thrust the suitcase into Harry's stomach, knocking the wind out of him, seized Dudley in a tight one-armed hug, and planted a large kiss on his cheek.

Harry knew perfectly well that Dudley only put up with Aunt Marge's hugs because he was well paid for it, and sure enough, when they broke apart, Dudley had a crisp twenty-pound note clutched in his fat fist. Luckily, though, he kept a civil tone.

"Petunia!" shouted Aunt Marge, striding past Harry as though he was a hat stand. Aunt Marge and Aunt Petunia kissed, or rather, Aunt Marge bumped her large jaw against Aunt Petunia's bony cheekbone.

Uncle Vernon now came in, smiling jovially as he shut the door.

"Tea, Marge?" he said. "And what will Ripper take?"

"Ripper can have some tea out of my saucer," said Aunt Marge as they all proceeded into the kitchen, leaving Harry alone in the hall with the suitcase. But Harry wasn't complaining; any excuse not to be with Aunt Marge was fine by him, so he began to heave the case upstairs into the spare bedroom, taking as long as he could.

By the time he got back to the kitchen, Aunt Marge had been supplied with tea and fruitcake, and Ripper was lapping noisily in the corner. Harry saw Aunt Petunia wince slightly as specks of tea and drool flecked her clean floor. Aunt Petunia hated animals.

"Who's looking after the other dogs, Marge?" Uncle Vernon asked.

"Oh, I've got Colonel Fubster managing them," boomed Aunt Marge. "He's retired now, good for him to have something to do. But I couldn't leave poor old Ripper. He pines if he's away from me."

Ripper began to growl again as Harry sat down. This directed Aunt Marge's attention to Harry for the first time.

"So!" she barked. "Still here, are you?"

"Yes, Aunt Marjorie," said Harry.

"Don't you say yes' in that ungrateful tone," Aunt Marge growled. "It's damn good of Vernon and Petunia to keep you. Wouldn't have done it myself. You'd have gone straight to an orphanage if you'd been dumped on my doorstep."

Harry was bursting to say that he'd rather live in an orphanage than with the Dursleys, but the thought of the Hogsmeade form stopped him. He forced his face into a painful smile. "Indeed."

"Don't you smirk at me!" boomed Aunt Marge. "I can see you haven't improved much since I last saw you. I hoped school would knock some manners into you," she took a large gulp of tea, wiped her mustache, and said, "Where is it that you send him, again, Vernon?"

"St. Brutus's," answered Uncle Vernon promptly. "It's a first-rate institution for hopeless cases."

"I see," said Aunt Marge. "Do they use the cane at St. Brutus's, boy?" she barked across the table.

"Er -"

Uncle Vernon nodded curtly behind Aunt Marge's back.

"Yes," said Harry. Then, feeling he might as well do the thing properly, he added, "Rather frequently, Aunt Marjorie."

"Excellent," said Aunt Marge. "I won't have this namby-pamby, wishy-washy nonsense about not hitting people who deserve it. A good thrashing is what's needed in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. Have you been beaten often?"

"Many times," Harry lied casually. "I have earned the attention of my many superiors for it."

Aunt Marge narrowed her eyes. "I still don't like your tone, boy," she said. "If you can speak of your beatings in that casual way, they clearly aren't hitting you hard enough. Petunia, I'd write if I were you. Make it clear that you approve the use of extreme force in this boy's case."

"They do, Aunt Marjorie," Harry explained falsely. "It is a policy of the school that extreme force is necessary and is utilised in all punishments."

She nodded approvingly. Perhaps Uncle Vernon was worried that Harry might forget their bargain; in any case, he changed the subject abruptly.

"Heard the news this morning, Marge? What about that escaped prisoner, eh?"

As Aunt Marge started to make herself at home, Harry caught himself thinking almost longingly of life at number four without her. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia usually encouraged Harry to stay out of their way, which Harry was only too happy to do. Aunt Marge, on the other hand, wanted Harry under her eye at all times, so that she could boom out suggestions for his improvement. She delighted in comparing Harry with Dudley, and took huge pleasure in buying Dudley expensive presents while glaring at Harry, as though daring him to ask why he hadn't got a present too. She also kept throwing out dark hints about what made Harry such an unsatisfactory person.

"What do you think, boy?" the blubbery woman asked him.

Schooling his facial demeanour, he stood straight-backed, unknowing of the conversation at the time. "I think it is not my place to judge, Aunt Marjorie."

She smirked evilly. "Looks like they have beaten something into you then," she commented before turning back to her brother. "You mustn't blame yourself for how the boy's turned out, Vernon. Bad blood, bad child. His parents were probably best friends with that murderer," Marge joked nastily. "It wouldn't surprise me if he turned out the same."

Harry tried to concentrate on his food, but his hands shook and his face was starting to burn with anger._ Remember the form,_ he told himself, _think about Hogsmeade. Don't say anything. Don't rise._

Aunt Marge reached for her glass of wine.

"It's one of the basic rules of breeding," she said. "You see it all the time with dogs. If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pup -"

Reaching deep into his mental shields, he secluded and protected himself from her insults. Since Thanatos' visits, he had taken up the ancient and tricky practice mentioned in one his several scrolls.

Occlumency was the act of magically closing one's mind against Legilimency. It was ancient, and had existed since medieval times. It could prevent a Legilimens from accessing one's thoughts and feelings, or influencing them. A person who practised this art was known as an Occlumens.

Legilimency was the act of magically navigating through the many layers of a person's mind and correctly interpreting one's findings. Muggles might call this "mind-reading," but practitioners disdained the term as naive. It was dangerous and infinitely difficult to master, and so far Harry had only achieved one thing - a three-second long mental invasion of a cockroach.

On the other hand, though, he had a great affinity for the defensive version. It was subtle and deceptive, with shimmering invisible walls and barriers obvious only to the most trained in mind-reading and the actual person in control of it. That was something Harry had come across whilst studying: _The entire premise that someone can know when you're using Occlumency completely defeats the point of Occlumency. Even etymologically speaking, 'shields' are wrong: Occlumency comes from combining **occludere** (to hide) and **mens** (the mind). Nevertheless, that might be kind of a first stage or 'Occlumency for Beginners': Stop the one entering your mind from entering - and only advanced or really skilled wizards might be able to hide the fact that they are hiding something._

Harry had three levels of defence. The outer one, was merely a look - his irises changed colour and stiffness, useful against outside interference. Then was a sand-castle, made not out of sand, but of memory. It was a distraction, for the most part, and was only an accompaniment to the ultimate weapon of his mental safety ... his mind itself.

The mind was uncontrollable, rhythmic, and complex. A cyclone, that ran into a typhoon, that converged into a hurricane, that intersected a tornado ... and somewhere, in all that there was a little tiny pinpoint, that was the centre of that raging storm ... where all is calm. The trick was getting there and maintaining that spot, while crazed idiots were attacking you at every turn.

He could vaguely hear the words around him, but focused within himself. "Alcoholics ... died in a car crash ... freakish ... criminals ... just _wrong_!"

His cerebral layers shattered. At that moment, the wineglass Aunt Marge was holding exploded in her hand. Shards of glass flew in every direction and Aunt Marge sputtered and blinked, her great ruddy face dripping.

"Marge!" squealed Aunt Petunia. "Marge, are you all right?"

"Not to worry," grunted Aunt Marge, mopping her face with her napkin. "Must have squeezed it too hard. Did the same thing at Colonel Fubster's the other day. No need to fuss, Petunia, I have a very firm grip..."

But Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were both looking at Harry suspiciously, so he decided he'd better skip dessert and escape from the table as soon as he could.

Outside in the hall, he leaned against the wall, breathing deeply It had been a long time since he'd lost control and made something explode. He couldn't afford to let it happen again. The Hogsmeade form wasn't the only thing at stake - if he carried on like that, he'd be in trouble with the Ministry of Magic.

Harry was still an underage wizard, and he was forbidden by wizard law to do magic outside school. His record wasn't exactly clean either. Only last summer he'd gotten an official warning that had stated quite clearly that if the Ministry got wind of any more magic in Privet Drive, Harry would face expulsion from Hogwarts. Admittedly, he had managed to practice so far, but that was probably due to Thanatos.

He heard the Dursleys leaving the table and hurried upstairs out of the way.

Harry got through the next three days by forcing himself to think about his Handbook of _Do-It-Yourself Broomcare_ whenever Aunt Marge started on him. This worked quite well, though it seemed to give him a glazed look, because Aunt Marge started voicing the opinion that he was mentally subnormal.

At last, at long last, the final evening of Marge's stay arrived. Aunt Petunia cooked a fancy dinner and Uncle Vernon uncorked several bottles of wine. They got all the way through the soup and the salmon without a single mention of Harry's faults; during the lemon meringue pie, Uncle Vernon bored them A with a long talk about Grunnings, his drill-making company; then Aunt Petunia made coffee and Uncle Vernon brought out a bottle of brandy.

"Can I tempt you, Marge?"

Aunt Marge had already had quite a lot of wine. Her huge face was very red.

"Just a small one, then," she chuckled. "A bit more than that ... and a bit more ... that's the ticket."

Dudley was eating his fourth slice of pie. Aunt Petunia was sipping coffee with her little finger sticking out. Harry really wanted to disappear into his bedroom, but he met Uncle Vernon's angry little eyes and knew he would have to sit it out.

"Aah," said Aunt Marge, smacking her lips and putting the empty brandy glass back down. "Excellent nosh, Petunia. It's normally just a fry-up for me of an evening, with twelve dogs to look after ..."

She burped richly and patted her great tweed stomach. "Pardon me. But I do like to see a healthy-sized boy," she went on, winking at Dudley. "You'll be a proper-sized man, Dudders, like your father. Yes, I'll have a spot more brandy, Vernon ..."

"Now, this one here -"

She jerked her head at Harry, who felt his stomach clench. _The Handbook,_ he thought quickly.

"This one's got a mean, runty look about him. You get that with dogs. I had Colonel Fubster drown one last year. Ratty little thing it was - weak. Under-bred."

Harry was trying to remember page twelve of his book: _A Charm to Cure Reluctant Reversers_. "It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other day. Bad blood will out. Now, I'm saying nothing against your family, Petunia," she patted Aunt Petunia's bony hand with her shovel-like one. "But your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best families. Then she ran off with a wastrel and here's the result right in front of us."

Harry was staring at his plate, a funny ringing in his ears. _Grasp your broom firmly by the tail,_ he thought. But he couldn't remember what came next. Aunt Marge's voice seemed to be boring into him like one of Uncle Vernon's drills.

"This Potter," said Aunt Marge loudly, seizing the brandy bottle and splashing more into her glass and over the tablecloth, "You never told me what he did."

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were looking extremely tense. Dudley had even looked up from his pie to gape at his parents.

"He - didn't work," said Uncle Vernon, with half a glance at Harry. "Unemployed."

"As I expected!" said Aunt Marge, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. "A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who -"

"He was not," said Harry suddenly. The table went very quiet. Harry was shaking all over. He had never felt so angry in his life.

"MORE BRANDY!" yelled Uncle Vernon, who had gone very white. He emptied the bottle into Aunt Marge's glass. "You, boy," he snarled at Harry. "Go to bed, go on -"

"No, Vernon," hiccuped Aunt Marge, holding up a hand, her tiny bloodshot eyes fixed on Harry's. "Go on, boy, go on. Proud of your parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash - drunk, I expect -"

"They didn't die in a car crash!" said Harry, who found himself on his feet.

"They died in a car crash, you nasty little liar, and left you to be a burden on their decent, hardworking relatives!" screamed Aunt Marge, swelling with fury. "You are an insolent, ungrateful little -"

But Aunt Marge suddenly stopped speaking. For a moment, it looked as though words had failed her. She seemed to be swelling with inexpressible anger - but the swelling didn't stop. Her great red face started to expand, her tiny eyes bulged, and her mouth stretched too tightly for speech - next second, several buttons had just burst from her tweed jacket and pinged off the walls - she was inflating like a monstrous balloon, her stomach bursting free of her tweed waistband, each of her fingers blowing up like a salami.

"MARGE!" yelled Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia together as Aunt Marge's whole body began to rise off her chair toward the ceiling. She was entirely round, now, like a vast life buoy with piggy eyes, and her hands and feet stuck out weirdly as she drifted up into the air, making apoplectic popping noises. Ripper came skidding into the room, barking madly.

"NOOOOOOO!"

Uncle Vernon seized one of Marge's feet and tried to pull her down again, but was almost lifted from the floor himself. A second later, Ripper leapt forward and sank his teeth into Uncle Vernon's leg.

Harry tore from the dining room before anyone could stop him, heading for the cupboard under the stairs. The cupboard door burst magically open as he reached it. In seconds, he had heaved his trunk to the front door. He sprinted upstairs and threw himself under the bed, wrenching up the loose floorboard, and grabbed the pillowcase full of his books and birthday presents. He wriggled out, seized Hedwig's empty cage, and dashed back downstairs to his trunk, just as Uncle Vernon burst out of the dining room, his trouser leg in bloody tatters.

"COME BACK IN HERE!" he bellowed. "COME BACK AND PUT HER RIGHT!"

But a reckless rage had come over Harry. He kicked his trunk open, pulled out his wand, and pointed it at Uncle Vernon.

"She deserved it," Harry said, breathing very fast. "She deserved what she got. You keep away from me."

He fumbled behind him for the latch on the door.

"I'm going," Harry said. "I've had enough."

And in the next moment, he was out in the dark, quiet street, heaving his heavy trunk behind him, Hedwig's cage under his arm.

Harry was several streets away before he collapsed onto a low wall in Magnolia Crescent, panting from the effort of dragging his trunk. He sat quite still, anger still surging through him, listening to the frantic thumping of his heart.

But after ten minutes alone in the dark street, a new emotion overtook him: panic. Whichever way he looked at it, he had never been in a worse fix. He was stranded, quite alone, in the dark Muggle world, with absolutely nowhere to go. And the worst of it was, he had just done serious magic, which meant that he was almost certainly expelled from Hogwarts. He had broken the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry so badly, he was surprised Ministry of Magic representatives weren't swooping down on him where he sat.

Harry shivered and looked up and down Magnolia Crescent.

What, was going to happen to him? Would he be arrested, or would he simply be outlawed from the wizarding world? He thought of Ron and Hermione, and his heart sank even lower. Harry was sure that, criminal or not, Ron and Hermione would want to help him now, but they were both abroad, and with Hedwig gone, he had no means of contacting them.

He didn't have any Muggle money, either. There was a little wizard gold in the money bag at the bottom of his trunk, but the rest of the fortune his parents had left him was stored in a vault at Gringotts Wizarding Bank in London. He'd never be able to drag his trunk all the way to London. Unless...

He looked down at his wand, which he was still clutching in his hand. If he was already expelled (his heart was now thumping painfully fast), a bit more magic couldn't hurt. He had the Invisibility Cloak he had inherited from his father - what if he bewitched the trunk to make it feather-light, tied it to his broomstick, covered himself in the cloak, and flew to London? Then he could get the rest of his money out of his vault and... begin his life as an outcast. It was a horrible prospect, but he couldn't sit on this wall forever, or he'd find himself trying to explain to Muggle police why he was out in the dead of night with a trunk full of spellbooks and a broomstick.

Harry opened his trunk again and pushed the contents aside, looking for the Invisibility Cloak - but before he had found it, he straightened up suddenly, looking around him once more.

A funny prickling on the back of his neck had made Harry feel he was being watched, but the street appeared to be deserted, and no lights shone from any of the large square houses.

He bent over his trunk again, but almost immediately stood up once more, his hand clenched on his wand. He had sensed rather than heard it: someone or something was standing in the narrow gap between the garage and the fence behind him. Harry squinted at the black alleyway. If only it would move, then he'd know whether it was just a stray cat or - something else.

"Lumos," Harry muttered, and a light appeared at the end of his wand, almost dazzling him. He held it high over his head, and the pebble-dashed walls of number two suddenly sparkled; the garage door gleamed, and between them Harry saw, quite distinctly, the hulking outline of something very big, with wide, gleaming eyes.

The outline changed, gaining a strangely human quality. The beast was replaced by a man. He had a gaunt, sunken face, waxy skin, yellow teeth, and long, matted hair; Harry thought he looked as a corpse might. He was unshaven, with a faint scent of stale drink around him, and he did not bother to change his clothes at all judging by his grubby vestments. He was also branded with a series of tattoos over the chest and arms. His eyes were peculiar though - they were alive and bright; a striking grey.

"Harry ..." the man croaked. "I can't believe it ... it's you -"

Terrified, Harry swung his wand around, aiming it at the stranger's face. Then a voice echoed through his head. _Trust him, Harry_, Thanatos communicated softly. _He is safe. He will do you now harm._

Vaguely, he recognised the man. He was on the news: the mass-murdered. This was the first time he had considered disobeying Thanatos. But when had he ever lied to him?

Stowing his wand in his pocket, he marched forward, extending his forearm and intertwining it with the stranger's, before introducing himself. "I'm Harry - Harry Potter."

"I know," the man rasped awkwardly. "I'm Sirius Black; your old man's best friend, and best man at his wedding."

"Well, Mr. Black -"

"Call me Padfoot," Sirius insisted quickly, wheezing uncomfortably.

"Okay, Padfoot," Harry tried again. "I hope you've got somewhere to stay ... cause it looks like we both need one."

Looking on from above, a winged figure smiled.

Son and father reunited at last ...

* * *

><p><strong>DUN DUN DUUUUUUN! Cliffhanger! For those of you a little confused ... the challenge rules never said Harry's parents couldn't have been possessed to give a non-permanent mortal body to the gods, after all. And this is AU and a Crossover, after all - anything can happen!<strong>

**So what do you think of it, guys? One more hyper-active sugar-high induced written expression of madness?**

**Anyway, thank you for reading - reviews are welcome, they always help; they're what keeps me writing so much ... that and fun, of course. Bye!**


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